Cookie Caper

On Sunday I made some no-bake cookies.

Someone was clearly trying to get those cookies via any means possible. Apparently the tipped-over chair, deflated inflatable chair, cushion and potty had failed.

Aha! Caught in the act! He was trying to bring in more chairs but couldn't get them around the corner to the cookie counter.

After more attempts and many sad faces we finally gave in and let the poor guy have a cookie. As soon as he figures out how to right our tipped over chairs we'll be in trouble. Watch out cookies!

Adventures in Potty Training

As my friend Sarah Smith is fond of saying, "Potty training is a Special Time."
It seems like such a simple concept. When something comes out of the lower half of your body, please go to this room and sit on this special chair. However, there is nothing simple about it unless you happen to be one of those lucky parents whose children just potty train themselves. In other words, you are the parent of only very well-behaved girls.
For us this potty training adventure began shortly after we moved to Cleveland and we are only now seeing success. Let me just say that despite potty books and logic stating that children can be trained at 18 months, despite your desperate want to use all the money you are spending on diapers to vacation in Europe, despite the fact that all of your friends seem to have potty-trained children do not be discouraged if your child is not. It will happen, seemingly by magic. One day your child will just get it and you will step out of the world of diapers and into the world of underwear, accidents, and potty etiquette.
Potty-training is a Special Time. It is a time when all of the subjects you've been taught to politely avoid will be the main focus of your dinner conversation. It is a time when you will ooh and aah over things that are smelly and more than slightly disgusting. It is a time when your children will start conversations with strangers with phrases like, "Hi! Today I made a really big poop in the potty!" It is a time when your children will give each other potty-themed nicknames. "I'm the poop one, you're the pee one and he's the toot one."
It is a time when you will come to dread hearing "Uh-oh." What this phrase really means is "Mom, I left a puddle on the library carpet." It is a time when you might hear "Mom, the whole thing won't go down!" which means that your child has unrolled the entirety of a brand new jumbo roll of toilet paper and attempted to flush it down the toilet. The toilet will be completely clogged while a mound of dry toilet paper is still sticking out the top.
It is a time when "Mom, I made a mistake. I missed." means that there is pee on his underwear, pants, socks, footstool, bathroom floor, trashcan, hand towel and bathmat but none actually in the toilet. It is a time when your child might stand up during his church children's singing time in the very front row and moon everyone so he can scratch his bum. When you hurriedly try to pull his pants back up he will yell, "Stop, Mom! There's something wrong with my underwear!"
Yes, potty training is a Special Time. It's a good thing we are saving so much money on diapers because when all the adventures are over, and I know we're just getting started, I'm really going to need a vacation. If you need me, I'll be somewhere in Europe.

Single Digits

Today marks 31 weeks of pregnancy. The countdown is now in the single digits. Only 9 weeks to go until baby Benjamin arrives on the scene. In some ways this seems insanely close, in other ways it seems like an eternity. I guess my only real complaint is that my weight is far further into the triple digits than I would prefer. Darn those cravings for corn chips and salsa con queso!

Booked

Marc took this adorable picture of our three guys reading on the couch. We had to catch this rare moment of peace to remind ourselves that there are times when they are not fighting or scheming. Our boys have a serious love of books which we hope will continue after they learn to read. I get the request "Read a book please, mommy." multiple times a day. Even David John requests to be read to by throwing himself in front of you or in your lap and shoving a book into your hand. He then forcibly points at the book, says "book" and looks at you expectantly. I try to acquiesce as often as possible. I only wish they wouldn't pick such annoying favorites. I think reading the book "Ice Cream Dreams" ten times a day could be a community service project for a convict. I know I'd think twice before committing a crime again if that was my sentence.

No ID, No Problem

As mentioned in a previous post, Marc flew to Utah earlier this month. In order to make this less catastrophic for me and the boys and to save a lot of money, we drove down to my parents' house and had Marc fly out of the nearby Dayton airport. For some reason flying out of Dayton is much cheaper than flying out of Cleveland... maybe fewer people want to leave Dayton? I don't know. Anyway, it sounded like a great plan until we arrived at my parents' house and realized that Marc's wallet was not in his pocket... or the van... or the luggage. In the chaos of packing up the van with luggage and children we accidentally left it at our house. We thought for sure that this was the end of Marc's travel plans- but we were wrong. You can, in fact, get on a domestic flight without a government issued ID- without any ID at all, actually.
The people at the Dayton airport were very nice about the whole thing. In order to get through security Marc had to agree to the much-complained-about pat down. (I guess they think if you really aren't who you say you are the threat of the pat down alone might send you packing.) He also had to submit to questioning from the TSA national headquarters by phone. They asked him for names of family members, previous addresses, car makes and models, anything the government would have access to. Luckily, he passed but it made me think that they were going about this all the wrong way. Anyone could look up a bunch of information like that and pose as someone else. If the government has access to the name of your spouse then they should call up the guy's wife and ask her to help verify her husband's identity. Then they could ask real stumpers like, "What snack did you eat in bed last night?" "Did you brush AND floss your teeth?" "Name two things your wife got you for Christmas." Wives would probably also be able to identify any tattoos, birthmarks and scars that would be helpful in confirming identity. A wife could even inform the TSA about any unique talents the husband could use to prove himself- he can roll his tongue, he can burp the alphabet backwards, he can do an impressive moonwalk. Let's face it- wives probably know more about their husbands than they know about themselves. The only problem with this system is that men might not be able to answer questions like "When is your anniversary?" or "What, according to your wife, is your most annoying habit?" And forget about asking a man to identify his wife if she forgets her ID. I imagine the conversation might go something like this, "Well, I can't really describe what she looks like. I'm not sure what her original hair color is, but she makes some killer meatballs." Ladies, if you want to get on a plane without your ID be prepared to cook.

Music to My Ears (or Nose)

In order to prevent complete boredom and cabin fever craziness I started a system last year in which I rotate the toys that are in our living room every week. Over the New Year weekend, I reorganized the toys into new thematic rotations and this week we've been having a music themed toy selection.
The boys have been enjoying an assortment of store bought and homemade musical instruments, although they frequently find alternate uses for them. We have discovered that rhythm sticks can also draw on walls, homemade tambourines can be used as flying saucers or Chinese throwing stars and maracas make an ever more satisfying sound when you use them to hit someone on the head.
Surprisingly, some of the most popular items are our paper towel tube "trumpets". The boys love to play them by singing or shouting into them loudly. Elijah used his today to announce everyone's name in the family in sports arena style.
"There's Daddy on the couch! Aaaaand Gabriel and David John! 'Lijah's on the table and Mommy in the kitchen! Thaaaaaat's our family!"

David John couldn't quite get the hang of his at first and ended up looking like Pinocchio or an up-tight elephant. Eventually, he figured it out and can now yell with the best of them.
Anyway, I thought I'd be a good mom this week and try some structured activities in order to reduce the chaos in our house. I decided we'd make some shakers with dry beans and old seasoning bottles. After tasting the dried beans and finding them inedible, David John figured out that it would be better just to drop them in the plastic container.


Elijah did a great job putting beans in his and testing it until it had just the right sound.

We hot glued the caps on to prevent future messes and choking hazards. I asked Gabe to show me his partially finished shaker and smile. This is what I got:

Next, I cut some paper to the same size as the labels we ripped off and let the boys decorate it. This was very serious business.

There are no pictures of David John coloring his label because if I let go of his hands to snap the photo, he just threw the crayons, crumpled the paper and drooled on it. When the labels were done we hot glued them on also. Here are the finished products:

Everyone was proud to show daddy their creation when Marc got home. We had a great jam session- but since then the boys have discovered that the best sound quality is created when you throw them from mid-leap off the couch. And I thought music was supposed to soothe the savage beast(s).

A Belated Tribute

Marc's grandfather, also named Marc Ricks, passed away earlier this month at the age of 100. Marc was able to attend his funeral last week in Utah along with large numbers of family and friends who came to say goodbye. The boys and I couldn't go- we could swing one unexpected plane ticket but not four- but I thought I'd write a little bit about this man who gave my husband his name.
By the time I joined the family, Grandpa Ricks was already 91 years old. I'm sad that I never knew him as Marc did, but I did get to hear a few of his stories at family gatherings. The story he was most fond of telling me was about playing his violin. He loved to play classical and operatic pieces. He took his violin with him when he left to serve a mission for our church in Switzerland. He served in the French speaking part of the country and was asked to play his beautiful music on more than one occasion. Once, he played during a church service. It was a piece from a French opera and though he spoke the French language enough to teach the gospel he was not well versed in the lyrics of operas. As he finished the piece, he looked out at the congregation and noted a distinct feeling of unease. One member took him aside later and informed him that though the music was beautiful, the lyrics to that particular piece were about a raunchy love scene and inappropriate for church.
He would always laugh in his wheezy way after telling me this story.
I think I would be satisfied if I could live life as fully as Grandpa Ricks. In his declining years, after his wife had passed away, he reduced his life to only the essentials- reading and eating nothing but Oreo cookies and milk.
I am grateful for the legacy he leaves for my husband and boys. I know that he touched many lives and often offered his services as a family doctor for little or no payment. I think Marc's passion for medicine stems largely from his grandfather. In fact, the similarities between old and young Marc Ricks are remarkable. Both are doctors- we have Grandpa Ricks' fascinating old medical texts and some old equipment. Grandpa Ricks spent much of his life in the San Francisco area running his family practice. Marc served his mission in San Francisco and also fell in love with the bay city. Both received master's degrees before deciding to go on to medical school and both loved to read.
Marc jokes that when he begins to interview for jobs or fellowships and they ask him where he sees himself in the next 5-10 years that he'll answer, "I'm planning to travel back in time and become my own Grandpa."
While I am not a fan of that idea I wouldn't mind if, in many ways, Marc becomes just like him.